Of Mice and Men
by Angelus1
Summary: Cassidy, by comparison, is small for his age, with unremarkable brown curls and a shy, quiet demeanor.


**Disclaimer: The Casablancas men, Logan, Shelley, Madison, Mac, Veronica and all characters mentioned here are the property of UPN, Rob Thomas, Stu Segall, and Silver Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended, so please don't sue. If you choose to ignore this and attempt to sue me anyway, be forewarned that you're only going to get about $45, some CD's, a few boxes of EZ-Mac, and and a pair of neon pink stilettos. **

**Author's Notes: I LOVE LiveJournal's vmlyricfic. The unusual items in the challenges produce really original material, and even, in this case, convinced me to write characters that I probably would have otherwise never written. I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.**

* * *

"Are you sure you know how to use that thing?" Cassidy asks hesitantly, watching from the shade as Dick fiddles with their dad's BB gun.

"Duh," Dick says with an exaggerated shake of his head. At age eleven, Dick Casablancas is a force to be reckoned with. He has his mother's stubbornness and his father's cunning intelligence and a head full of bright blonde hair that makes him stand out in any crowd. Cassidy, by comparison, is small for his age, with unremarkable brown curls and a shy, quiet demeanor. They compliment each other well, though; Dick sticks up for Cassidy when he gets teased, and Cassidy talks Dick out of his harebrained schemes. The BB gun idea is by far one of his worst.

Dick is an awkward pre-teen. He has skinny limbs but large hands and feet. He has no patience, and his movements are often quick, jerky, and wholly uncoordinated. Cassidy is nervous with the way he's cradling the gun against his underdeveloped chest, figuring out exactly how to point and aim it, wobbling slightly because he's not quite strong enough to support the full weight of the weapon. The whole situation is just a recipe for disaster, and their dad is due home in ten minutes, so they're sure to get caught.

But Dick doesn't care - He knows that he can charm his way out of any severe punishment. So he hauls the gun up against him, plants his feet, and squints in the afternoon sun as he regards his targets from behind the sight mounted on the barrel. Said targets, a gaggle of small green lizards that they boys captured yesterday, are blissfully unaware of their fate as they scurry to and fro about the yard of the Casablancas home.

Without warning his brother, Dick squeezes the trigger. He misses by a long shot, and there's now a small, neat hole in the side of the mailbox. The second shot takes a chunk out of the bark of one of tall oak trees lining the driveway, and the third sends a clump of earth blasting skyward in a small explosion of dirt and grass. But the fourth shot makes its mark, and one of the lizards skids onto the pavement of the walkway, leaking red from its tiny, now-decapitated body.

Dick lets out a loud whoop, jumping up and down in excitement. Cassidy flinches as the gun jumps with him. As if on cue, the familiar black Subaru rolls up to the garage. Before Mr. Casablancas can even reach for the electric door opener, however, Dick races up to the car and knocks on the passenger's side window, gesturing for his father to exit the car. Dick Senior sees the gun, and he sets his mouth in a frown, but Dick scrambles back to the front walk to snatch up his accomplishment. He waves the dead lizard in front of his dad's face proudly, beaming from ear to ear.

"That's my boy!" Mr. Casablancas shouts, enfolding Dick in a hug. Even in his business suit, with perfectly manicured hands and designer everything, he takes the lizard from his son. "Should we frame this?" he teases. "Stuff it? Mount it on the wall in your room?" The pair chatter away happily as they stroll around to the back of the house.

From the shaded porch, Cassidy can do nothing but watch in silence.

* * *

On Dick's fifteenth birthday, he declares that he wants to go to the firing range. Dick Senior, thrilled that his son wishes to share in one of his favorite hobbies, quickly agrees, and demands Cassidy's presence as well. Cassidy is none too thrilled with this arrangement, but his father is not a man to be argued with, so he quietly slips into the backseat of the silver SUV, tamping down the slightly nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

When the trio is standing before the paper targets, safety goggles on and guns in hand, the feeling has not subsided. If anything, it's gotten worse. Dick seems to be having no trouble at all, as he bounces from one foot to the other, waiting for the buzzer to sound. They are surrounded by older men, and Cassidy wonders briefly how old you have to be to enter the facility. Surely older than fifteen, but he wouldn't put it past Big Dick to pay off the front desk person.

The buzzer has the same shock value as a gunshot itself, and Cassidy nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of it. Dicks Junior and Senior are pouring clip after clip into the targets with practiced ease, but it takes the youngest Casablancas a few moments of fumbling before he can lift the gun in the proper position and aim it correctly. when he takes the first shot, it clears the target completely, without even nicking the edge.

Six rounds later, it appears as if Dick and Cassidy are equally average shots - nothing special, and not completely horrible either. But Cassidy finally feels like he's getting it - he understands the rush of cradling a gun between your hands, of holding that much power, of hitting the target you're aiming for. His aim is steadily increasing and he's lightheaded and slightly giddy at the prospect of it all.

"Ready to reload?" he asks, bouncing slightly. The birthday boy, however, is apathetic. The curiosity has worn off, and he's already bored out of his mind and muttering about the beach, so the suggestion of a next round is quickly vetoed by both Dicks.

"Let's have us some lunch," his dad suggests, and the trio make their way to the country club across the street. After getting a prime table with unsurprising ease, Mr. Casablancas raises his glass to toast to Dick's birthday. Cassidy lifts his own glass, and all three outstretched arms meet with a gentle clink of glass. As their arms lower to the table once more, Big Dick is already planning their next trip to the shooting range. "I was thinking sometime next week," he says. "What about you, Dick?"

"Yeah, Dad. Sure." He has no desire to return, but Dick Jr. will do nearly anything to please his father. Cassidy opens his mouth, ready to protest, but he's quickly dismissed. "You don't really like this kind of thing anyway, right son?" The inflection makes it obvious that this is not actually a question, but a statement of fact.

Cassidy is speechless. He looks to his big brother to defend him, but Dick quickly averts his eyes.

* * *

Cassidy only packs the essentials for the post-graduation blowout. Clean clothes? Check. Cologne? Check. Toothbrush? Check. Handgun? Check. 

He's heard, through various sources, that Veronica is poking her nose in places he was sure he had steered her away from. He's still annoyed that Mac pointed her in his direction, but deep down he knows that she didn't mean it. If she suspected something, he would know.

Getting back together with her was careless, Cassidy knows that, but he couldn't help himself. And to be honest, he doesn't care. If there's one thing he's certain of, it's the fact that he loves Cindy Mackenzie. It's naíve, high-school, puppy love, but given time he knows that it could grow into something more. And that's what he's fighting for now - time.

Cassidy turns on the safety and tucks the gun carefully between his folded pants and shirts. It's fully loaded and ready to go and he knows that this time, he won't hesitate at all.


End file.
